Twisted Histories
by PaigeD6
Summary: Clint Barton is S.H.I.E.L.D's youngest, parentless assassin. His first target? Natasha Romanoff; the infamous Black Widow. An interrupted killing results in the two of them, quite literally, running for their lives. Unassisted; what could possibly go wrong? AH alternate history . T for violence and language. Image credit to Kneel-for-Lokitty on deviantART
1. First Impressions

**A/N: This has not been beta read due to my impatience, so please do not take minor mistakes too seriously, since this will improve. First Clintasha attempt, and slightly boring first chapter, but stick with it.**

* * *

This was not something he wanted, it was not something any teenager would, given the choice But, the more Clint thought about it, the more sense it made to join S.H.I.E.L.D properly, as an agent. He wondered how his parents had made this decision. Unlike them, Clint had not had a normal upbringing. But would they want their son to follow in their footsteps? He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and hit '2' on the speed dial. Coulson answered after two rings.  
"I'll do it." Clint said before Coulson could talk.  
"Director Fury will be informed." Clint got the impression that Coulson had been expecting this to be Clint's answer. He hung up and got to his feet. Clint stood at the end of the double grave for another minute, then nodded his head respectively and walked away. He didn't look back.

* * *

Three months down the line, Clint sat in the schoolyard of South London's busiest public school. The yard was empty, everyone was in class, but Clint had decided he didn't want to go, so sat alone on a bench hidden behind a tree. His grades didn't matter anyway. From his seat, the charred remains of Liberty Private School for Ladies was visible in the distance. His target however, who was undercover there, was anything but a lady. Clint's silent footsteps and impeccable aim with any long distance weapon had landed him as an assassin. Natasha Romanoff was his first target, but S.H.I.E.L.D had stuck him undercover to see what intel he could glean from England's elite teens. What he'd gathered from the giggling girls outside of the Liberty school was that 'Natalia', had been dropped off one day by a Russian man in a big black car, hadn't said a word to anyone, and was apparently unmoved by the disappearance of several well-known corrupt politicians. And still unaffected by the reappearance of the politicians, or rather, their bodies. Clint had placed a link to all the girls 'Natalia' had befriended and the dead politicians, the link being the girls' fathers were the politicians. Surveillance had told Clint that Natasha went into these girls' houses, and reappeared twenty minutes later, stony faced, and got into a black car. All that was left to do, was kill her. Clint's first mission was that simple.  
Clint could hardly believe his luck when a black car pulled up outside the school's gates, and Natasha Romanoff stepped out of the car. Hurriedly, he packed away the iPad, and acted like a busy student, too involved in his school work to look up. Clint bustled through the yard, rustling papers about, right up until he walked smack bang into Natasha.  
"I am so sorry!" Clint said straight away, he picked up her bag and held it out for her. Ungraciously, she snatched it off him and glared.  
"I'm Tyler, what's your name?" Clint lied with a smile. Natasha remained impassive.  
"Natalia." She said, with a faint Russian accent.  
"Are you from the private school? I heard they were sending a bunch of them down here. Let me walk you to the principal's office."  
"No thank you." Natasha said curtly.  
"Why not? You can't get there yourself." Clint pointed out. Natasha rolled her eyes.  
"You've already ran straight into me, you're irritating me, you're pushy and I already don't like you. Can you not find someone else to bug?"  
"Well, Natalia, let me make it up to you, let me take you there." Clint persisted with a friendly smile, masking the hatred he felt for girl.  
"Fine." Natasha said rudely. Clint took her elbow and began steering her towards the school. For someone nicknamed the Black Widow, she was very young. At 16, she was 2 years younger than Clint. He'd already calculated how long he'd need to be nice to her to convince her to meet him somewhere private, he'd take care of her and be extracted.  
"So what's your story? Why are you here?" Clint asked while they walked. Natasha smirked.  
"I was hired by the Russian mob, I killed all those politicians, and instead of taking me out of that school once I'd completed the job they've left me there until they get me another job. So I burned it down, at which point they moved me here." Clint pretended to be shocked, although this was information he already knew, Natasha glanced at his face and her smile widened.  
"Oh, you're not serious." Clint said, with a, hopefully, relieved smile. Clint stopped them outside the principal's office.  
"It says headteacher." Natasha pointed out dryly. Clint shrugged.  
"I'm American. Meet me at lunch okay? I'll find somewhere for us to sit and we can talk." Clint gave her a final smile, and hurried off.

* * *

All week Clint escorted Natasha around, ignoring the few friends he'd made in favour of her. Natasha, in return, was polite but cold and distant. Today, on Friday, four days after he'd first bumped into her, they were sat facing each other on a bench. The bench was highly coveted for lunch, but Sixth Form students got first pick and one look at Clint's muscles sent everyone else running. Ironic, Clint found it, since Natasha could probably choke them out with her thighs.  
"Do you miss Russia?" Clint asked after a moment of silence. Natasha raised an eyebrow and showed more interest now than she'd collectively shown all week.  
"How do you know I'm from Russia?" She questioned, leaning forwards across her knees. Clint shrugged and smiled casually.  
"Your accent, your name. Do you speak Russian fluently still?" Clint grinned at her, knowing he'd convinced her.  
"Конечно, я по-прежнему говорят на русском. И да, я скучаю по ней." Natasha replied in quick Russian. Clint translated quickly in his head, of course she still fluently spoke Russian, and yes she did miss Russia. The smile on Natasha's face made it apparent to Clint that she thought he didn't understand. Clint leant across his knees so his face was an inch from hers.  
"Как глупо с моей стороны думать иначе." Clint's Russian was less fluent, and slightly slow, but still got the message across. Natasha's smile widened.  
"You speak Russian." said Natasha, switching back to English, "You're a man of many talents Tyler Adams."  
"My grandfather dealt with... weapons there." Clint said, watching Natasha's face for any changes. "My dad often took me there before my grandfather's unexpected death." Not even a twitch, Clint had very much doubted the Black Widow would give anything away anyway, but it had been worth a try. Of course he'd also been lying, his Russian was the result of lessons from one of S.H.I.E.L.D's translators. The shrill bell rang before Natasha could say anything and they both got to their feet.  
"What lesson have you got?" Clint asked. Natasha checked the back of her hand, where her timetable was scrawled in black biro.  
"Science, only my weakest subject. What about you?"  
"Sport, I'll walk you to the science block on my way there." Clint said, the two of them slowly began making their way across the school, not eager at all to hurry. They stopped outside the science building, a modern affair with a mysterious silo off to one side. Both of them were waiting for the other to say something, Clint quickly spotted a chance to carry out her execution. It was such a waste of talent, Clint thought.  
"Meet me here after school? We'll go to mine and I'll help you with your science." Clint suggested. Natasha paused, but nodded quickly after, she was no doubt sorting through every scenario in her mind. Clint gave a dramatic bow in response, then jogged down to the changing rooms. Despite the obvious problem that both he and Natasha were trained killers, designed to hunt down and soullessly kill, Clint could see himself and Natasha being friends in an alternate world.  
One thought ran through his mind as he played a violent game of contact rugby; he was going to kill a person tonight.


	2. Deviating From the Plan

**A/N: Once again, not beta read. Thanks for the responses guys! Also, this will be fast moving, and as a result may be quite a short fic in total. Enjoy!**

* * *

Clint walked towards Natasha from the changing rooms; itching the back of his neck whilst simultaneously on the phone to Phil. Water from his shower was dripping down his back and dampening his shirt, but Clint had been in a rush, he was far too worked up to dress slowly.  
"Of course I'm not going to let my guard down, I'm not stupid." Clint looked up and saw Natasha stood outside the science building. He lowered his voice.  
"Gotta go Phil, make sure you're in by the time I get there." Clint hung up and tucked the black iPhone into his pocket. Pasting a false smile on his face, Clint walked over to Natasha.  
"You ready to go?" He asked, even though he could see she was. Natasha nodded and started walking. Clint took a couple of longer steps to catch up with her.  
"So, Natash- _Natalia_, how was your first week?" Good going Clint, use her real name why don't you. Natasha narrowed her eyes at Clint, but kept walking.  
"I got hit on by three guys, the work is too easy and the canteen food tastes like it's already been eaten." Natasha replied in a monotone, then looked up at Clint.  
"In answer, it was fine." Clint stopped them outside an old Fiat car, his for the mission. Clint caught Natasha's dirty look at the car.  
"It may look bad but it works fine." He said hurriedly. Natasha merely raised her eyebrows and proceeded to get into the passenger seat. Clint kicked the bottom of his door, then tugged on the handle. The door came open with a less than reassuring creek. As soon as Clint sat down and pulled the door shut again, he turned to Natasha. In an odd way, he felt sorry for her. This was clearly not the lifestyle she had chosen. But he felt like she understood evolution, she adapted to survive.  
"So where do you live?" Natasha asked, bringing Clint's focus back to the car.  
"Small apartment 10 minutes away, I live there with my uncle." Clint said vaguely, his 'uncle', was actually Phil, who was his handler for this mission. One of the rooms in the apartment was filled with surveillance kit, emergency money and weapons, locked with a keypad and a padlock. Clint started the car, and pulled away from the school slowly, navigating his way through the bustle of students. When they hit the main road, Clint put the pedal down and sped dangerously round corners.  
"Are you trying to kill me?" Natasha shouted from the passenger's seat.  
Oh if only you knew, Clint thought.

* * *

Clint screeched his car to a stop outside his apartment building, a grey tower on a dingy estate. S.H.I.E.L.D could've provided something better, but anything too extravagant would've raised suspicion. Although Coulson agreed with Clint that it didn't have to be this bad. Clint pulled the door release and gave the door a violent shove with his shoulder. Natasha was waiting for him on the sidewalk when he got out, an angry scowl painted across her beautiful face.  
"Drive like that again, and I will kill you." Natasha said angrily. Not if I get there first, Clint thought. He didn't say that, instead he shrugged and opened the door to the apartment building. Once upon a time, that door had a lock, but it had been forced off at some point and no one had bothered getting it fixed. The lift was also broken, so Clint began the short jog up the stairs to his 3rd floor apartment. Natasha followed him wordlessly, Clint had expected getting her to follow him would be harder than this. He still refused to underestimate her though, Clint knew vaguely her history, and if the training she'd received was anywhere near to what he thought it was... then she was not to be dismissed as a threat.  
They reached the third floor quickly, neither of them out of breath. Clint unlocked the door and pushed through.  
"Rob?" He yelled, Rob was Phil's name for this mission.  
"In the kitchen!" Coulson yelled back. Clint gestured for Natasha to follow him through to the kitchen. Clint headed straight for Coulson, and leant up to a cupboard so his mouth was level with Phil's ear.  
"Need a handgun, put it under my pillow." Clint murmured quietly. Coulson gave an almost imperceptible nod. Clint grabbed some biscuits from the top shelf and turned back to Natasha.  
"Natalia, this is my uncle, Rob. Rob this is Natalia, she just joined the school today in year 12, I literally bumped into her." Clint grinned. Phil smiled at Natasha, the smile wasn't sincere, Clint noticed.  
"Will you pour the water into my mug when the kettle boils? I just gotta go to the toilet." Phil said, then left the room quickly, pushing the door closed after him. He had no doubt gone to move a gun for Clint.  
"So, Tyler," Natasha said slowly, "Why are you living in England if you're American?"  
"I felt like a change of culture. My uncle works here, so my parents sent me out here." Clint repeated his cover story without hesitation and with an easy smile. It was easier to swallow than the truth. Natasha nodded silently. The kettle clicked off and Clint poured the boiling water into the mug.  
"Coffee is ready!" Clint hollered. Phil stuck his head into the kitchen and smiled guiltily.  
"Thanks but I gotta go out, you can have it. There's money for pizza stuck to the fridge." Phil said quickly, then left, slamming the door behind him. Clint turned to Natasha and shrugged.  
"Let's go through to the living room, I'll give you a hand with your homework." Clint suggested, he picked up the coffee with his free hand and lead Natasha back through to the main room of the apartment. Clint dumped the biscuits onto the table and carefully set the coffee down next to them.  
"No guided tour?" Natasha said with raised eyebrows and a flirty smile. Clint chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his neck.  
"Come on." Natasha drawled, she dropped her bag to the floor and looked at Clint with big, pleading eyes.  
"Fine!" Clint caved in and turned to the hallway, beckoning for Natasha to follow him.  
"That's Rob's room, the bathroom, my room and the cupboard with the cleaning stuff in." Clint said quickly, pointing at each door in turn. Natasha smiled and nodded slowly.  
"Why is there a key pad and lock on the store cupboard?" She pointed at the key code. Clint improvised quickly.  
"Kind of a dodgy area, it was like that when we moved in and we didn't really want to ask." He said casually. She was on to him, it was time to act.  
"Hey, I gotta go to the toilet," Clint smiled guiltily, "Go get your homework out, I'll get all my schoolwork from last year out after I'm done here." Natasha looked suspicious, but followed his instructions.  
Clint disappeared into the bathroom and took a moment to clear his head. He had to kill her now, the first time he was ever going to kill anyone. Natasha was dangerous, but vulnerable. Clint shook his head and crept out of the bathroom, not making a sound as he went into his bedroom. The handgun was under his pillow, as requested. It was a standard US military issue handgun, a Sauer P226, but with an attached silencer. Phil had put a gaudy tag on it. Clint picked it up and read it.  
'Officially yours now, registered in your name Agent Clint Barton!' Clint snorted and tore the tag off. Business time. Clint stepped silently towards the door and peered round the corner. With her back to him, Natasha sat in the living room, rifling through her bag and producing books and paper. Clint crept down the rectangular hallway and stopped two metres from Natasha's back, his gun pointed just above her head..  
"Natasha Romanoff." Clint said. Quicker than he could comprehend, Natasha had spun round and was pointing a similar looking gun at his forehead. Clint raised his gun to the spot between Natasha's eyes.  
"Who carries a gun in their school bag?" Clint questioned amusedly.  
"Me." She replied shortly.  
"How did you know?"  
"You called me Natasha, your eyes express the hatred you can't voice and your footsteps are silent." Natasha said.  
"Do you want to shoot first or shall I?" She added. Time slowed down for Clint. He couldn't describe how he felt for this girl, but he didn't hate her. Not anymore. He related to her, he understood her. Although his life had been anything but normal, it had still been better than hers.  
"I don't think I can." Clint confessed. Natasha stayed silent.  
"Leave the Russians, Natasha, join me. Wipe out the bad things and put good things there instead." Clint pleaded. The slamming of a car door drifted through the open window, then a loud, angry Russian shout. Emotion flooded Natasha's eyes, and Clint saw a look on her face he'd never seen before. Not since he'd met, since he'd been watching her, not in any surveillance images. No, it was an entirely new look for her; dread, fear.  
"They're coming for me." Natasha whispered.  
"They are." Clint confirmed. Neither of them had lowered their guns, but Clint doubted Natasha would shoot.  
"Don't let them take me." Clint looked directly into Natasha's eyes.  
"Never." He promised. Natasha nodded, and all the emotion left her face again. Clint lowered his gun and held out his hand instead. He could hear footsteps on the stairs.  
"Do you trust me?" He asked. Natasha lowered her gun and took his hand.  
"No." She said back. Clint grinned.  
"I knew you were smart." He dragged Natasha down the hallway to the weapons room, then let go of her hand and punched in the code. Something hitting the front door. Clint pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the second lock, just as the front door was knocked down with a screech. Clint went into the weapons room and pulled Natasha in after him. Soundlessly, Clint pulled the door shut. Clint flicked the light switch and lit up the weapons room. Guns lined the walls and sat on top of the mass amount or surveillance gear.  
"Get some weapons, throwing knives and things like that are around here somewhere." Clint swiped up a backpack and filled it with money of random currencies, several of his passports, grenades and a few handguns. Swinging it onto his back, Clint swiped up his bow and two quivers of arrows. How did he know when he was coming back?  
"Put a bigger gun on your back, then this quiver, as many handguns as you can safely take. Grenades on the floor, clip them to your belt." Clint whispered, he threw the quiver at Natasha. She caught it and swung it on her back, then slung a M16 over that. Another M16 was in her hands, and Clint could see the bulges of various weapons and ammunition in her clothing. Clint nodded in approval and took the backpack off again. He was very aware of time, he could hear the Russian mob stomping around and searching. Hurriedly, Clint filled the bag with ammunition then put it back on.  
"Ready?" Clint whispered to Natasha. She nodded and adjusted the weapon in her hands. Clint pulled the pin from a grenade then flung the door open, using his foot to push the handle down.  
"Let's go then."


	3. From the Roof

**A/N: I am very unhappy with this, but my beta reader has seemingly evaporated so it'll have to do. Be better next chapter! And also quicker updates.**

* * *

Clint didn't waste a second, he threw the grenade into the living room, catching sight of three, very shocked looking, Russian mercenaries. Just as quickly, Clint slammed the door closed again, then heard a Russian shout and a second later, an explosion. He turned to Natasha.  
"It'll be smokey, I'm not sure I got them all but it's cleared slightly," Clint said. Natasha nodded and lifted her gun slightly. Clint took a deep breath and opened the door again. As predicted, there was a thin mist of cement, that was slowly settling. Clint ran forward a few steps, only to be stopped by the gaping hole in the cheap flooring, completely impossible to cross. The only bonus Clint could see currently was five dead bodies, mostly intact.  
"I hope you've got a back up plan." Natasha said from beside him. Clint turned back down the corridor towards his bedroom, spurned on by the sound of people running up the stairs.  
"Fire escape, broken on every floor below us, including this one, but perfectly fine above us. We have a small jump however." Clint said as he pushed open his bedroom door.  
"Open the window." Clint instructed, as he stuffed his feet into his combat boots. He glanced at Natasha's feet as a secondary thought, she'd have to make do with her plimsolls. Awkwardly, Clint slung his gun around his neck and climbed onto his window was just large enough for him to crouch in it, so he could jump upwards and grab the remainder of the broken fire escape ladder. With a grunt, Clint leapt up and gripped the bottom ladder rung tightly. The rusting metal screeched angrily as he used his upper body strength to pull the remainder of himself up onto the platform.  
"You think you can make it?" Clint called to Natasha, who was now sat in the window. She nodded confidently, then leapt. Natasha was lighter than Clint, and was carrying much less than him, but that didn't stop the metal from groaning loudly. There was a screech of metal slipping, Clint's hand shot out and grabbed Natasha's wrist just as the remainder of the broken ladder fell away. He pulled her up onto the platform with him. Together, they caught their breath momentarily.  
"We need to go" Clint said, Natasha nodded her agreement and followed him up the stairs. Just as he promised, the stairs were fine after the third floor. Right up until they reached the top floor, that is.  
"You told me these stairs were perfect," Natasha growled when she saw the jump to the roof. Clint shrugged guiltily and linked his fingers for Natasha to stand on. She put one foot in his hand and bounced twice before springing up and landing in a crouched position on the roof.  
"Impressive," Clint called up.  
"Gymnastics," Natasha smirked over the edge of the roof. Clint shook his head and climbed up onto the guardrail. His impeccable balance meant he easily sprung onto the roof, Natasha didn't look even mildly impressed.  
"We need a plan." Natasha said shortly. Clint pulled out his phone and raised his eyebrows.  
"I have one." He replied, and hit '2' on the speed dial. The phone rang, and was quickly answered.  
"Coulson speaking."  
"It's Clint."  
"What's going on? You're on speakerphone with Director Fury, don't say anything you wouldn't want him to hear." Coulson said. Clint swallowed the laugh in his throat, he didn't want Director Fury to hear about any of this, but clearly that was impossible.  
"I'm with the Black Widow, she knows I work for someone, she doesn't know who. I had a gun to her head when we were interrupted by the Russian mob. Natasha didn't want to go with them, so I took her with me. We've got ammo, money and weapons." Clint explained quickly, ignoring the furious Russian shouts that were drifting upwards.  
"Hold on." Coulson said, then there was silence, Phil had turned off his mic. Natasha was looking at Clint expectantly, he held up a finger to her. She shrugged and leaned over the side of the roof, scanning the area. The phone clicked, the Fury's voice echoed through;  
"Kill her; and we'll get you." His voice was empty, no remnants of any human emotion. Clint hung up without replying and met Natasha's gaze.  
"What did they say?"  
"It doesn't matter, I'm not doing it." Clint said firmly. Natasha walked towards him.  
"They want you to kill me, don't they?" She said quietly. Clint nodded.  
"It's not an option, don't bring it up again. We've got money, weapons, fake documents, and most importantly, we currently have a height advantage." Natasha was silent for a second before nodding her head towards the edge of the roof.  
"They know we've gone somewhere but they haven't worked out where yet. Those guys are just the thugs, not particularly bright. They've regrouped by the van, seven of them in total." Natasha quickly explained. Clint pulled the bow off his back and notched an arrow.  
"Really? You really think you can hit them?" Natasha snorted. Clint turned to her and raised his eyebrows.  
"Ten pounds if I can get it through the first guy's head."  
"You're on." They shook on it, and Clint raised the bow once more. Natasha started humming to his side, making clicking noises, generally trying in vain to put him off. Once Clint had raised that bow, there was nothing but him and the target. With a deep breath, Clint released the bow and sent an arrow through a large skull. He had no time to judge Natasha's reaction though; because all hell broke loose. Clint quick fired two more arrows downwards, both finding a kill-spot, while Natasha sprayed a few bullets down, successfully immobilizing the van in the process. The two surviving men had sought cover in the flat block; out of sight and reach of Clint and Natasha.  
"Plan?" Clint asked.  
"How's your abseiling?"  
"Peachy."  
"Down the fire escape, then down the wall." Natasha grinned.

* * *

"Now where?" Natasha whispered when they'd reached the ground. Clint realised her geography of London was minimal; she had no idea where she was. Clint opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the wail of a police siren.  
"Shit." Clint cursed. He began sprinting towards his car, trusting Natasha to follow him, almost getting himself shot in the process.  
"Stop where you are!" A voice echoed through the loudspeaker. There was two quick gunshots, and Clint watched the officer go down in front of him. The officer on the other side of the vehicle reached to pull a weapon, but was shot down swiftly by Natasha.  
"Why did you shoot them?!" Clint screamed, "I have clearance to make them back off!"  
"How am I supposed to know!" Natasha shouted back. Clint felt around in his pocket for his car keys, momentarily felt lost, then remembered they were in the flat.  
"What the hell..." Clint muttered, and ran towards the police car. Natasha was already in the other side, Clint pushed away the dead body and jumped into the driver's seat, just as several more police sirens screeched out.  
"Well now Russian criminals want us, and the government. Good work, Clint." He muttered to himself. Clint grinded the car into second gear as he pulled away, making the engine cry. Natasha was already leaning out the window, shooting out car tyres.  
She remained out there until Clint started taking corners at sixty miles an hour.  
"Where are we going?" She asked quietly as they made their way through the outskirts of London at a ridiculous speed. Clint grabbed the police radio and threw it from his window before speaking.  
"There's an underground car park a few miles away, we'll ditch this car there and steal another. I'll use that to get us to Bristol airport, then we're getting the next flight out to anywhere"  
"How? I don't have any papers or anything. I don't even officially exist."  
"I have friends." Clint said shortly. They drove the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

Clint's stolen Audi drove at a steady 70mph down the motorway, he was roughly six miles from Bristol airport. Natasha had fallen asleep in the passenger seat, a miraculous feat given the weapons she wore and the fact it was only five in the evening. They'd avoided traffic but it still took longer during rush hour, so it'd taken 2 hours to get this far.  
"We're almost here. Wake up." Clint said loudly. Natasha grunted and flung her arm out in Clint's direction.  
"Hey! That hurt!" Clint yelled. Natasha grinned, and Clint knew she was no longer asleep.  
"Baby." She mumbled. Clint shook his head with a smile.  
"Can you drive?" He asked her once she'd sat up and blinked away her tiredness.  
"Yes, I passed the test last year." Natasha told him. Clint acknowledged this with a nod, not questioning the fact she was underage.  
"Keep driving the car around the car park. I'll be back in five minutes." Clint said as he pulled the car to a stop outside the main entrance to the airport. All his weapons were in the back seat, but Clint grabbed his handgun and tucked it into the back of his jeans as he got out the car. Natasha switched sides before he'd even got out the way and began driving.

Clint kept his head down as he walked through the busy building, he made his way to the information desk where he recognised Tom.  
"Tom, I need to get through security unquestioned, I have weapons and no papers. Two of us. Any flight out. As soon as possible." Clint said under his breath. Tom met his eyes and nodded.  
"Budapest leaves in half an hour, meet me here in twenty minutes. Get a holdall bag for weapons." He said back, flicking blonde hair out of his eyes. Clint lowered his head and walked quickly to WHSmith.  
Inside the shop, he swiped up the nearest holdall off the rack, it was plain black and quite large. Clint paid at the counter and then moved quickly back into the car park, where he quickly spotted Natasha circling round the front in the black Audi. She pulled in next to him, waited for him to dive in then began circling again.  
"I need your weapons. Chuck them back here." Clint said from the back seat, already hurriedly shoving weapons into the holdall, then threw the entire backpack from earlier in. Pistols and automatic weapons began being flung at him from the front.  
Finally, the weapons and money had been stuffed in, Clint's bow and arrows taking pride at the top. They'd had to leave a M16 behind, but it wasn't a big deal.  
"Go park, somewhere close." Clint instructed.  
"Where are we going?" Natasha asked as she maneuvered the busy car park.  
"Budapest."


	4. Hair Dye

**A/N: Woops this took so long sorry! Thanks for all the subscriptions, this chapter is more of a filler and the action kicks up again next chapter. Some reviews would be lovely if you have time!**

**-Paige**

* * *

An nondescript car drove them up to the plane, before everyone else boarded, and Natasha and Clint were ushered into two business class seats at the back.

"Stay quiet." The air hostess whispered quietly, before dumping a blanket unceremoniously over the pair of them and hurrying off. Natasha instantly snatched most of the blanket up and covered herself.

"Hey!" Clint protested, abandoning the quiet rule. Natasha glared at him.

"I'm cold." She said simply. Which was a lie, the temperature of the plane was perfectly fine. Clint shrugged and turned to look out the window, his ignorance was fine by Natasha. She needed time to collect her thoughts and make a decision on what to do next.

This was a boy, almost a man, who had spared her life. Twice, in fact. Yet here he was, distance yet polite. He was a killer, supposedly cruel and ruthless. Natasha had seen him in action, she knew what he was capable of doing. But something had made him change his mind about her, and help her out. Years of Red Room brainwashing had taught her love was not a good thing, that she should trust in very few. Clint was already working his way into her mind. For a second, Natasha wondered if this was a part of a bigger plan, but quickly dismissed it. He wasn't that kind of person, she could already tell. But he was similar to her, and she knew how many people she had killed. A number that was now no longer countable on two hands.

Natasha sighed and rolled away from Clint, concentrating her breathing so she appeared to be sleeping. There was a shuffle from beside her, then Natasha felt Clint sliding closer under the blanket. Her breath caught and her body stiffened. Natasha fought to relax her muscles, he was just trying to get some blanket, not stab her. The bag of weapons sat to Clint's side, not suspicious looking at all. The flight to Budapest was just under three hours, but since her seat was comfier than the hovel she'd been staying in with the mob, Natasha closed her eyes and let sleep take over.

* * *

Natasha woke up feeling groggy, her eyes took longer than normal to pry open and her neck had a crick in it from an uncomfortable sleeping position. For a moment, Natasha enjoyed the warm comfort, before realising the warm comfort came from Clint's arm around her. Natasha got up quickly, knocking Clint's arm off her. She would not let herself be taken in. Quickly, Natasha crossed the three steps to the small toilet before Clint could wake up.

Inside, Natasha turned to the mirror and smoothed her long, red hair down. There was nothing she could do for her face except splash some water on it.  
When she walked back out, Clint was sat awake in his seat, looking straight ahead. Natasha sat down beside him, without acknowledging him.

"Flight lands in fifteen minutes, be ready to go." Clint said coolly, before sliding past her into the toilet. Natasha dragged the blanket over herself, using it to hide the fact she was shoving a handgun from the bag down the back of her jeans.  
The seat belt light came on just as Clint came out from the toilet.

"What do we do when we get to Budapest?" Natasha said in a hushed voice.

"We wait, if we make it a month with no disruptions I'll ring S.H.I.E.L.D again, and I won't back down." Clint replied. Natasha nodded slowly.

"That sounds fine. Russia will be looking for us, and the British government too." Natasha pointed out.

"Which is why it is unlikely we'll make it a month without any disruptions." Clint said evenly.

"We land in five minutes, any immediate plans?" Natasha asked, her brain was already sifting through a thousand different scenarios.

"I have a few."

"First things first, we need hair dye, take some water from the plane to tide us over. Then we need a place to stay. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect."

* * *

Clint and Natasha were greeted at security by someone called Atilla, Natasha didn't know who he belonged to, but he got them from security, no questions asked. However, he did make a quick escape.

"Been here before?" Clint asked Natasha as they climbed into a cab.

"Never."

"Only get into a cab from Citytaxi, safest ones around. Eighth district please." Clint said, the last part directed at the driver.

"You sure? Is dangerous." The cab driver replied, he looked genuinely concerned.

"We'll be fine." Clint assured him. Natasha had no doubt they would.

"You're taking us to the rough part?" Natasha asked in a low voice.

"There'll be somewhere for us to stay there, most people take lodgers on as extra money. Budapest is generally a good place, but the eighth district is one of the few rougher places." Clint replied casually.  
They continued the taxi drive in silence, until the cab driver pulled up to the kerb, twenty minutes later.

"You'll take euro?" Clint asked. Reluctantly, the driver nodded. Natasha snorted with laughter, the poor guy probably thought they were from some form of mafia. Which Natasha supposed she was, but they were both teens. Clearly he had to be wary when he took someone here.  
Clint threw twenty euro at the man, then got out of the white taxi, holding the door open for Natasha.

* * *

The second Natasha climbed out, she was overwhelmed by the lack of noise. Admittedly it was seven in the evening, but the rough areas Natasha had been to were full of people. Instead, she could see on the street ahead of her a mere 200 people at the most.

"Hair dye." Natasha reminded Clint. Clint nodded and lead her into a small shop, with bars over the windows. A bell rang out as they stepped in, instantly a small shopkeeper popped up from behind the till. He said something in Hungarian and looked at the two of them expectantly.

"Non Hungarian," Clint said in a french accent, provoking an amused look from Natasha, "Hair dye?" Clint continued. The shopkeeper nodded enthusiastically and pointed down a badly lit aisle. Natasha ignored the odd-looking mark on the floor and followed Clint.

"The French accent?" Natasha whispered with a smirk, Clint nudged her in the ribs.

"People will be looking for the Russian and the American. Not the French kid and his mute friend." Clint said, smiling for the first time since they left England.

"You really need to work on your French accent."

* * *

Clint scrubbed the remainder of the dye from Natasha's hair over the side of the bath, all she could see was black water trickling down the sides of the bath. A towel was flung over her shoulders and Natasha got to her feet and turned to the small mirror. Her hair was jet black, strands of it stuck to her face and there was a black smudge along her hairline.

"You ready to have it cut?" Clint asked from behind her. Natasha met his reflections gaze and nodded stoically. She dragged a small comb through it quickly while Clint grabbed a knife from the bag. When Clint came back in, he had a small combat knife in his hand.

"Shoulder length." Natasha told him, he nodded and grabbed the majority of the soaking hair. There was a small tug, then a strange light feeling. Clint spent a few minutes making it all one length, then sliced off the longer strands at the front. He stood back once he was done and let Natasha comb through her new hairstyle. It was odd, seeing her appearance remade. The length of the hair changed her face shape, and she looked older and paler.

"You like it?" Clint asked with a raised eyebrow.

"The colour? No. The length? I can work with it."


	5. A Short Stay

**A/N: See I can also update quickly! Enjoy. Note: Gets a bit weird nearer to the end.**

**Disclaimer: Any publicly recognisable characters all belong to respective owners and I make no attempt to claim ownership of them, no copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

Natasha had known the bed in their small room wouldn't be great, but the five-centimetre thick mattress was missing most of it's stuffing, and the bed frame lacked enough slats for Natasha's bum to be sinking down to the floor. Barely bigger than a single bed, the two of them had crammed into the narrow bed for warmth. The duvet was thin, and neither of them had had the foresight to bring spare clothes. Winter in Budapest was cold, but Natasha knew the winter sun would provide some heat during the day. A dingy light was set over the room from the badly covered window, and the room looked even worse in daylight.

The floor was covered in general filth, Natasha couldn't find it in herself to question the mysterious movement in the corner and there was a worrying stain on the wall.

Natasha squirmed out of Clint's embrace without waking him and stuffed her socked feet into his combat boots. Using a lipstick from her back pocket, Natasha wrote on the wall, '_gone for breakfast, N_', just in case Clint woke up while she was gone. Several euros change lay on the side table, and Natasha swiped them up as she crossed the room. At the door, she paused and looked back at the sleeping Clint. He looked younger asleep, a peaceful but sad look on his face. The same tortured look she recognised in herself. The look that screamed unhappiness, but acceptance that this was life now. She wondered what he dreamt about, what thoughts ran through his head when he was no longer in control of his own mind.  
"Don't get attached, no one stays forever." Natasha whispered to herself, and tore her eyes from Clint, and left.

* * *

Natasha had picked something up from the same store she'd been to last night, the product was a cheap knockoff of American Pop Tarts. So, with the Pop Tarts clutched in one hand, Natasha headed back down the street to the small house where Clint was. It was a small ten minute walk, Natasha began a slow jog, keeping aware of her surroundings. There were a few people about, but three of them were men in bulky, black jackets, all just sat at various points, watching.

Accidentally, Natasha made eye contact with the first man, who stood barely fifty metres from her. She swore gently in Russian, and dropped her head, but she already had the feeling it was too late. Natasha was right, the damage was done.  
"It's her!" One shouted in Russian into his wrist. Natasha cursed again, these were the hired goons, not the brains which was beneficial to her, but still not great.

Quickly, Natasha whipped her gun from the back of her trousers and fired two quick shots. A kill shot, one to the head, one to the heart. Natasha's aim was impeccable- despite the fact she was still running forwards, hoping to get to Clint. One man down, with two to go. A second was running towards her, gun pointing for her head, finger on the trigger. Natasha could no longer see the third man, but knew he was around there somewhere. Time slowed down and Natasha was barely ten metres from the second man when she saw his finger slip onto the trigger. Hurriedly, Natasha threw herself down into a messy forward roll, rolling onto her right shoulder. From the roll, she came onto her knees and fired a single shot upwards into the jaw of the man, who was too shocked to react. The bullet tore up through his jaw and ripped through his head, emerging on the other side.

Natasha made the mistake of allowing herself a second to breathe, and was quickly pulled up off the ground by a single burly arm. Her wrist was twisted until the gun fell from her hand, Natasha gritted her teeth and focussed on channeling the pain into an escape attempt.

But the man's arm was wrapped around her neck, and the other wrapped around her chest, pinning her arms to her side. There was nothing she could do but flail with her legs.  
"The boss want you alive, but I may tell him this was not possible." A voice whispered threateningly in her ear.  
"Like Hell you will." Natasha snarled back. She prepared herself for one final escape attempt. But there was no time, an arrow sprung from the shoulder of the man and he dropped her. Natasha grabbed the gun and turned to face him again, just in time to see an arrow fly into his lung. The man looked at her, with regret and sadness in his eyes, mixed with elements of shock. Instead of saying anything, he coughed, splattering hot blood all over Natasha's face.

The realisation of what had just happened settled over Natasha.

Clint Barton had saved her life for a second time.

* * *

"That won't be all of them, we need to get out of here quickly, and then dye your hair again, sorry." Clint said as soon as Natasha walked into the room.  
"Clint..." Natasha said slowly, standing stock still in the middle of the room, as Clint rushed about around her.  
"What?" He demanded, still pacing.  
"They found us so quickly. Have you not thought about that? Just the Russians, not the Brits." Natasha said. Clint nodded. Natasha prepared to say what she'd been thinking about on her way up to their room.  
"A month after I... passed the selection process, they took me for a surgery. They said it was something wrong with my leg, but I can't remember too quickly. After it healed, I poked around where they cut in, and I felt a lump. I know it wasn't there before." Natasha explained. Clint had stopped pacing and was looking into her eyes, understanding written on his face.  
"Whereabouts?" He asked.  
"Right here." Natasha turned away from Clint and pointed to a spot just below her left cheek. She turned back to see pity in Clint's eyes.  
"Natasha, I am so sorry." He said, genuinely sincere. Natasha barely identified the fist flying towards her temple, before there was nothing but black.

Endless black.

* * *

Clint caught the dead weight of Natasha before she could hit the ground. He grunted under weight, but he had to be quick for this to work. Clint put Natasha down face first onto the bed, then sprinted down the stairs to the family he knew lived below.

Without waiting for an invitation in, Clint flung the door open and headed straight for the panicked woman.  
"Needle and thread! You have?" He said loudly. The woman nodded and disappeared into another room, and quickly emerged with a small tub.  
"You bring back?" She asked nervously, Clint nodded and snatched the tub from her. No thanks offered, Clint ran back up the stairs to the unconscious Natasha. He took a deep breath and pulled her trousers down to expose the scar she'd pointed to.  
"You can do this." He told himself, Clint held a lighter up to his knife to sterilise it. Another deep breath, and Clint pressed the knife against the scarred skin and dragged along the old opening.  
"Five minutes, you have five, or infection will get in." Clint murmured. The small metal object he'd been looking for was flashing angrily, Clint guessed this was due to it's recent activation. Fortunately, the tracker wasn't attached to any veins, just held in place by a few stitches to some muscle. Clint used the knife's tip to pull the stitches free, and held his breath until he was certain he hadn't nicked the muscle. A tense three seconds passed until Clint felt sure it was fine, and gently picked the tracker up and threw it aside.

Clint held the lighter back to the tip of the knife and gently cauterised where he'd cut. There was a disgusting smell and a gut-wrenching sizzling sound, but it had to be done.  
"Three minutes, Clint." He reminded himself as he held the lighter to the needle. The needle was threaded already, with a thin blue thread, meaning Clint would have to take the stitches out at some point.  
Another minute and he'd finished stitching it up. Gently, Clint pulled Natasha's trousers up and moved her so she'd be more comfortable when she woke up.  
With nothing better to do, Clint decided to do a scout of the building, then take some weapons to the roof and defend the building as best as he could.

No one would touch his Natasha again.


	6. Budapest to India

**A/N: Please read the note at the bottom of this chapter. This fic may be shorter than I anticipated, and this chapter definitely sucks. I hope you can forgive the poor quality of this chapter. Thank you to every reader! Some reviews would a b-e-a-utiful!**

* * *

The first thing Clint had done since leaving Natasha, was pull the dead bodies from the street. Everyone had cleared out after the first kill, but the bodies remained. Without anywhere to put them, Clint had just dragged them behind some dumpsters off of the side street.  
Since then, Clint had headed up to the roof, where he'd been sat for the last hour with his bow. No one had turned up yet, but it was likely to be a matter of time. Clint's digital watch clicked over a minute, and beeped, telling him it was now nine in the morning. Could it really only be nine when so much had already happened? He'd killed a man, his first personal kill, and performed what could barely be called surgery on a woman, a girl really, whom he barely knew.  
Natasha should be waking up, Clint decided, he needed to be there when she did. He took a final glance up and down the street, then grabbed his handgun from the ledge and headed back downstairs.  
Natasha remained a mystery to him, too young to have gone through so much, and wearing a mask to hide it all. She had built her walls too high for Clint to scale them, he could tell she didn't trust him fully yet. Clint jogged down the steps from the roof to the third floor room he'd found last night, and broken into.  
He paused outside the door and took a breath, Natasha could be in some awful state, though he doubted it.  
Clint pushed in and was immediately greeted by fist in his stomach. The breath left Clint's body, and he fought the instinct to double over. Instead, he pushed further into the room and grabbed his assailant, expecting his grip to be met with solid muscle and little else, he was surprised to feel soft body. Natasha.  
"It's me!" Clint shouted, as the two struggled to gain dominance over each other.  
"I. Know." Natasha snarled, finally pinning him against the wall. Clint let her pin arms by his head, and felt her knee poised between his legs.  
"What have you done to me?" Natasha raised a knife to Clint's throat.  
"Ripped the tracker out your ass." Clint shrugged, grinning.  
"This isn't funny!" Clint felt the knife press deeper against his throat and swallowed.  
"You're right, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you but you don't trust me. I am trying to help you, we need to leave now. I've been watching from the roof for an hour and no one's turned up yet, so it's only a matter of time. You need to be careful of your stitches though." Clint let his body relax under Natasha's ice grip. She studied him warily for half a minute, before dropping the knife and removing her knee from groin.  
"Let's pack up and go, we need to stop for painkillers first." Natasha was already pulling on her plimsolls, Clint had pulled his boots off her feet some time ago, and shoving weapons back into the black bag. Both of them shoved handguns and ammo into their trouser waistband, then Clint put his arrows and bow on the top of the black bag.  
"Ready?" Clint had his hand on the door handle, and was looking pointedly at Natasha.  
Natasha nodded. "Ready."

* * *

Naturally, they only made it a hundred yards down the road when the first shot fired. It was quickly followed by more, leaving Clint and Natasha the only option to roll into an alley. The wail of a dozen police sirens filled the air.  
"Get the bow." Natasha threw the bag at Clint then pulled out both her handguns. Clint grinned to himself, he loved getting to use his bow. He slung both quivers onto his back and gripped his bow tightly. Natasha nodded to Clint and he moved to the edge of the wall.  
Tentatively, Clint threw out a cardboard box, there was no hesitation as a hundred bullets tore the box to pieces.  
"Send a car down to the other end!" Someone yelled. A stroke of genius hit Clint when he heard this, and notched an arrow and pulled back the string. The noise of the car engine approached, Clint let the arrow loose a second before he saw it.  
Perfectly timed, the arrow punctured the tyre of Hungarian police car, causing it to spin to a stop. Two bullets flew forward from behind Clint, effectively ending the lives of the two officers in the front seats of the car.  
By silent agreement, the pair of assassins ran forward and slid towards the car. Bullets whizzed pasts Clint's ear as crouched behind the car. When silence finally fell, it was deafening. Clint glanced at Natasha, who held up three fingers. One by one, she dropped them.  
Finally, once the third finger dropped, both of them shot to their feet and repeatedly shot into the large gathering of law enforcers. Clint recognised British representatives amongst the Hungarian police, and continued firing, regardless.  
With words unspoken, the two of them ducked and crossed, firing endlessly into the crowd.  
"I'll never forget this!" Natasha shouted over the noise. Clint grinned.  
"You and I will probably remember this very differently!"

* * *

The stitches from Natasha's leg stung as Clint pulled them out, but it was nothing compared to the original pain after waking up a month ago. The tin house in the slums of India definitely wasn't the ideal place to do this, since the whole area was full of infection, but it was the safest.  
"Done." There was the clinking of tweezers being thrown onto a side table, then Clint got up. Natasha poked the skin just below her bud and found the cut mostly healed. Although she'd beaten Clint up for it, she was glad it was gone. Clint handed Natasha the combat boots he'd stolen when they'd passed through Iran.  
"It won't be long before they find us again, we're not hard to find." Natasha pulled her black leggings up.  
"Nat, I really don't think they're going to this time. One more month and I'm gonna start making plans to get us to America." Clint sounded so sure, Natasha almost wanted to believe him. But she couldn't ignore everything she'd had brainwashed into her mind.  
"Let's just go to the market, we need some food for tonight." Natasha sighed and pushed her feet into the boots.

* * *

"She was going to kiss you!" Natasha almost screamed, her eyes were filled with laughter tears and only her hold on Clint's arm kept her from falling to the sewage filled ground. The blush on Clint's face deepened.  
"Please stop saying it! How was I supposed to know what she was saying?"  
"At least you got us cheaper food." The memory of the large Indian woman brusquely kissing Clint's face filled Natasha's head again, and she burst into fresh peals of laughter.  
"Nat! Come on!" But Natasha could feel his bicep shaking, and she knew he was laughing. The two of them pushed the curtain into their small home. The laughter instantly ceased. The bag of food was dropped onto the bed and the two of them pulled out handguns. Clint's brow scrunched up in anger as they observed the pale girl sat on the only dining chair.  
"Who, the bloody hell, are you?"

* * *

**Okay, I'm going to put a poll onto my profile regarding the name of the character they just met. I put this character in, she'll be there for about two chapters, because I'm going to use her in a future fic I have planned, and I love adding random jokes to myself. Character is pale, tall, athletic and has black hair. So please vote!**


	7. Talks and Memories

**A/N: Woops I had feels, and if I've done my job properly, you ****_should _****have feels too.**

* * *

The girl arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow, a smirk spreading across her face.

"Is that any way to talk to your guests?" She spoke in an Irish accent.

"No. But you are not my guest. I'll ask again. Who the fuck are you?" Clint's grip on the gun tightened. The girl sighed and threw down the Rubiks cube she'd been fiddling, wearily climbing to her feet.

"My name is Bria, I was sent here to help you and blah, blah, blah. I'm not going to tell you who by, mainly because I can't but partly because I really don't want to. Now do you want my help or not?" Bria sounded incredibly bored, but obviously was sent by someone because, well, how else would she find them? Clint exchanged a look with Natasha, and they both lowered their guns. Bria was still smirking.

"So that'd be a yes then?" Clint ignored her.

"Help us then."

"Fine. I'm a mutant, my power is memories."

"Memories?" Natasha questioned.

"I can take your memories, I can give you memories. Basically, I can mess with your mind, I'm the most forgettable person on this planet and also the most memorable."

"Prove it." Natasha nodded, provoking another eyebrow raise from Bria.

"Remember the number seven. What number?"

"Seven." Clint repeated. Bria stepped forward and pressed her forefinger to the centre of Clint's forehead. There was a dull click in Clint's head, and he blinked the blurred vision away. Bria watched him carefully, and Natasha looked at him expectantly.

"What was the number, Clint?" Natasha murmured.

"What number?" Clint blinked. The more he tried to think back, the more his mind hurt. Something was missing, just a small gap, nothing big. He'd lost something. Natasha looked impressed.

"You can stay. Now help us out."

"You have three weeks to leave here. That's all I have for now. I'm not staying in the disgusting place until next week, so I'll be back then. Bye for now."  
Bria breezed past them without another word, and seemingly disappeared into the busy street. Clint and Natasha exchanged a bemused look, then Clint shrugged. They had three weeks, so he'd begin making a plan and they'd leave. No reason not to have dinner.

* * *

Natasha adjusted her body to Clint's on the narrow bed. Since there was only room for one bed in their tiny shack, and Natasha didn't have the heart to make Clint sleep on the filthy floor, they'd ended up sharing the bed. Truthfully, it was the first time Natasha had trusted someone like this since before the Red , she felt the need to talk, knowing Clint was not asleep.

"Tell me about your life."

"What's brought this on?" The surprise was evident in Clint's voice.

"You don't have to." Natasha said, feeling stupid.

"No, I will. My parents were agents at S.H.I.E.L.D, where I work now. And when I was born they kept working, obviously. Coulson, who you met as my uncle, looked after me when they went away. Then when I was five, Coulson woke me up really early and took me to the English country base, and he asked if I knew what my parents did. I told him they fought the bad guys and he basically said this time the bad guys won and they weren't coming back. I got it, you know? So I was trained up until I was thirteen, then I might've run away a little." Clint sounded sheepish.

"A little?" Natasha snorted.

"Well, I always used to go onto the roof, I like heights. And one day I just decided to leave, and they never came after me. I spent two years in the circus, being trained by this guy called Trickshot, in archery. Then I found them embezzling some money," Clint's voice shook dangerously, "And they beat me up and just left me, they thought I was dead. An hour later S.H.I.E.L.D came and scraped me off the ground, I trained for the last three years, and now I'm here."

"That sounds horrible." Natasha gently squeezed Clint's hand.

"Nothing compared to what you've been through."

"No, I suppose you're right." Natasha whispered. There was a charged silence, as the two of them lay, thinking.

"Bria made you forget, she told you a number then touched your head, and you couldn't remember it,"

"Cool skill," Clint snorted.

"I didn't like it. Don't let her do that again,"Natasha replied. More silence followed.

"I trust you. Properly. Don't make me regret it," Natasha rolled over quickly, facing away from Clint. The walls the Red Room had built up around their precious Black Widow came crumbling down, reduced to bits of rubble. Natasha felt vulnerable, unprotected. She now had a weak spot, something to be targeted, and the logical decision would be to walk away now. But when Clint's arm went around her waist, Natasha didn't move a muscle.

* * *

"Well isn't that just adorable," Since there was only one person Clint knew with an annoying Irish accent, it didn't take him long to identify Bria. Clint pried his eyes open, only for the world to be tinted red, from Natasha's re-dyed hair. Bria was, he supposed, referring the the position the pair had fallen asleep in. Although their relationship was purely platonic, Natasha barely trusted him as it was, the pair in bed together could be very misleading.

"Fuck off," Natasha grunted tiredly.

"Nuh uh, I'm hanging around until you move on. It's my job and unfortunately there's no getting out of this one. I've already rung the one person who could get me out of here, and he point blank refused, purely to be an ass,"

"Anyone would think you wouldn't want to be here," Clint grinned, pushing his body up off the thin mattress. Having thrown his top off midway through the night, the majority of his upper body was now exposed.

"I just changed my mind, I definitely want to be here," Bria didn't even try to hide her stare. Natasha rolled onto her back as Clint tried to climb over her, out of the bed. Awkwardly, he paused over her.

"Do you guys want a minute? I can give you a minute. Here, have a minute," Bria swiftly left the one room shack.

"Sorry," Clint mumbled awkwardly, eventually deciding to roll off the bed. By the time he'd stuffed his feet into his boots and turned back to the bed, Natasha was asleep again, a small smile on her face.

* * *

"Get things sorted in there?" Bria smirked knowingly.

"Yeah, as in I got out of bed and she fell back asleep," Clint began slowly walking down towards the road that passed through the slums.

"You trust her completely. Why?" Bria asked, walking slowly beside him.

"How do you know that?"

"I told you my thing is memories, your memories of her are more prominent. They stand out more."

Clint shrugged, "She gets me, we work well together, I get her background."

"You can pretend all you like, the more memories you create with her, the harder it is for me to erase them. You obviously remember pulling her into that weapons cupboard?"

"Of course I do." Clint said curiously.

"I tried to touch that memory, erase small parts of it. Anything irrelevant, I managed. Little things, like the threads hanging from the carpet, the sofa cushions." Bria sighed.

"What I couldn't touch, was anything to do with her. Her school bag, the Russians following her, or the bigger things. How you felt when you looked into her eyes. Even the coffee mug on the table, you associate that with her strongly enough that I couldn't touch it."

"What are you saying?" Clint's voice was low, deadly. Bria's voice was weighed down with a solemn tone.

"You might not love her like that, but she will never be separated from you now. Not in life, not in death. Even if one of you lost your own mind, you would still cling on to the shred of the other. No matter how hard life pulls, how many times your wires get crossed, whatever happens, you stay together. Always."


	8. The Running Never Ends

Clint handed a bunch of rupees to the wiry man close to the entrance of the slum, then a box of knock off Pop Tarts to the man's son. No words were said, but the man nodded gratefully, then went back to looking entirely inconspicuous. Bria was still trailing Clint about, not really helping him in any way.

"He's grateful for your business, and that you look after his son, but he's worried for you."

"I thought your thing was memories?"

"It is, and those were his."

"What about your ability to be extremely and persistently annoying?" Clint was grinning though, something about Bria made him automatically cheer up.

"Shut up, yeah, let's get breakfast and head back to Natasha."

* * *

Two weeks passed where nothing happened, the trio sat around and talked about various aspects of their lives. Despite her claim she hated it there, Bria spent most of her time with Natasha and Clint. Natasha and Clint regularly worked out, occasionally pounding the shit out of someone Bria pointed out as a serious criminal, but mainly sparring with one another after a long run. As a pack, the three were unbeatable Shrouded by loose clothes hiding her muscular body, Bria looked young enough to fool anyone. Her childish innocence was long gone, but the fourteen year old could shrink her body and presence down in an instant. Combined with the general badassery of Clint and Natasha, they excelled.

* * *

A day later, things really kicked off.

Bria was sleeping on her rickety camp bed, with Clint and Natasha curled up next to each other.

"Get up!" Bria was shouting into Clint's ear.

"Go away," He groaned tiredly, a fist flew into his hip and he jolted upright.

"I'm up!" Clint shouted, Bria really knew how to punch.

"They're here," Bria was breathless, and already dressed in jeans, a dark hoodie and boots. Natasha had rolled out of bed into her boots the first time Bria shook her, and was already loading guns and holstering them. Clint shot out of bed, tugging on the combat boots he'd grown so used to wearing. Natasha threw Clint his bow, then a packed quiver.

"I'll meet you guys at the airport, I promise I'll wait, I have to sort things out," Clint noticed the sadness in Bria's eyes, odd at a time like this. Then she was gone, disappeared in a mess of black hair and long limbs.

"Let's go, Clint. We're going up and through, Bria says it's the Russians. They'll try to flush us out," Natasha tugged Clint out of the shack, having shouldered the black bag containing all their belongings.

* * *

The slums were almost empty, Natasha noted as she and Clint ran. Very few people were on the small paths that ran through the slums. Clint lead them into one of the bigger spaces, what had been a form of community area. The two of them crouched on the sticky ground, Natasha tried to block out the smell completely. A Russian shout went up, drifting through the air towards them. A singular shout followed, much closer. Too close. Then a skinny, pale Russian barged through into the space, completely oblivious to their presence. He ran through, into a small shack at the end. It was a face that Natasha knew only too well, turning her blood cold. She slowly climbed to her feet and silently followed the man.

"Nat?" Clint whispered, he was already following her. Natasha paused outside the curtain covering the doorway. She could keep quiet, or she could kill him. This was her only chance, she recognised that. With a deep breath, Natasha swiftly pushed in, her gun already aimed at the man's head.

"нет!" He screeched. Clint stood calmly behind Natasha in the small room. Natasha felt herself breaking, her heart falling to pieces. This man, this singular man, who was nothing special, had caused her more pain during her short life than anyone else had ever managed.

"Scum," Natasha managed to spit out, her voice shaky, but her hand still.

"Natasha, leave it, we have to go," Clint begged, his words hitting Natasha's back. Natasha took in another deep, shaky breath.

"He killed them Clint, he killed my parents," Her voice wobbled dangerously. She could hear approaching Russians, still far enough away not to worry her.

"How do you know this memory is real? It could just be more Red Room brainwashing," Clint's voice was slow, careful. It didn't stop the anger surging up inside Natasha, bubbling into a hot mixture of hate, anger and sorrow.

"It's real! I will never forget it, some things the Red Room can't take from me, he killed them right in front of me, he made me watch. And I asked Bria, she got rid of all the fake memories," Natasha snorted inappropriately, "Turns out I can't actually dance,"

"Well you have less than two minutes to make a choice," The calm voice was back. Natasha's mind flashed, between the image of her bloodied parents crashing to the ground, and the new person she'd become with Clint. The better person, infinitely more merciful.  
Natasha lowered the gun. Visibly relieved, the man began to sigh. But the air never left his lips, as Natasha smashed the butt of her gun into his head. He didn't deserve death, he deserved pain. Brutal scarring, physical, not emotional like Natasha's. He deserved what he'd put her through.  
Agony.  
He was clutching the bloody cut above his ear and groaning, lying sideways on the floor. Natasha kicked his face, the steel toe cap of her boots no doubt breaking his nose, damaging his teeth, dislocating his jaw with a swift crunch. His hands cradled his face, and he now sobbed. Natasha didn't stop, the red clouding her vision. Death would've been better for this man, she acknowledged this clinically as she kicked him over and over. His stomach, his back, between his legs, his shins, his face again.

"You deserved it all, you are lower than low," Natasha snarled. There was another groan, but Natasha was already turning away.

"And you," A weak voice said in English, the man groaned again between words, "deserve everything that is coming for you," Natasha froze, neither facing Clint nor the man, stuck in the middle. There was a tense silence, the vicious words left hanging in the air. Then Natasha turned, facing Clint again.  
"Let's go," she said coldly. And they did, back to running. Just as the first first Russian reached them. Clint pushed Natasha in front of him, shoving them both forwards and out. A shot was fired, but Natasha didn't hear it hit anything, so she kept running, feeling Clint's presence behind her.

Directed by Clint, Natasha ran on autopilot, feelings brewing in her body.

Remorse was not one of them.


	9. You Have to Forget

**A/N: Woops this is not the last chapter, maybe second to last or something. I don't know. I never intended this to be long anyway.**

* * *

It hurt. The pain kept creeping back into his mind, no matter how hard he tried to forget it. But he kept following Natasha, wanting her to be free, but wanting to be with her.  
Finally, they made it round a corner and Clint grabbed her arm.

"Nat," He panted, "I'm going to buy you time, go to America and show them my badge, tell them what happened, take Bria,"

"No! Why are you saying this?" Natasha's eyes registered hurt, only causing Clint further pain. In answer, Clint lifted his hand from his hip, sticky blood decorating his palm. Natasha's eyes widened, Clint carefully judged her reaction.

"You need to go, so you can be safe,"

"Not without you, you saved me, that bullet was meant for me, I'm going, and so are you, it's not far now," Natasha had risen her chin, a sure sign she wasn't going to back down. Clint gritted his teeth and began running again, this time taking a left.

"Where are we going?" Natasha said, her voice close behind him.

"Underground, I've been looking out since Bria arrived, it's going to be pretty nasty, but if we drop down we can avoid the mob guys and get to the train station, then to the airport," Clint quickly explained. With a cautionary sweep of the area, Clint pulled up a poor attempt at the sewage cover. The sewage did not come from the slums, but lead out this way from the richer areas. Clint had been looking for a way out, but had seen a kid dropping down into the sewers by pure luck.

"So that's what you were doing all those time you were alone," Natasha snorted. Clint nodded hurriedly, then paused.

"Wait... what did you and Bria think I was doing?"

"You don't want to know," Clint his cheeks redden, and dropped down into the sewer to hide it.

"Crack a glow stick Nat then drop it down," He called up, feeling his way down the ladder. Clint's feet found the small gangway that ran through the sewer tunnel along the side of the wall. A orange glow stick landed at his feet, Clint picked it off the ground and tried not think about the smell of the sewer. Natasha dropped down next to him, having pulled the cover back over the tunnel opening.

"Lead the way,"

* * *

Having only stopped to strap one of Natasha's tops to Clint's hip, the pair of them made good time through the sewers, and emerged round the corner from the train station. Natasha found it odd that no one commented on their seemingly random appearance from the sewer. Perhaps more people did it than she'd known.

Less than ten minutes later, Clint had them on a train towards the airport, the carriage was empty bar a sleeping businessman.

"On the table," Natasha said, hitting the plastic table to make her point. Unquestioningly, Clint lay on his uninjured side and pulled the top of his jeans down, exposing the bullet wound.

"Bullet still in there?" Natasha was rummaging through the bag for the medical kit.

"Yep, didn't exactly have time to pull it out," Clint grinned. Natasha rolled her eyes and peeled away the bloody top.

"I think you're in luck, bullet must've ricocheted first because your bone hasn't shattered, but the bullet's just sitting pretty in there,"

"Wait until we're back in America to pull it out, we'll need help," Clint's voice was strained, twinging guilt in Natasha as she cleaned the messy wound.

"Just cleaning it and then I'll strap it with a dressing," Natasha didn't tell him about the shot she was preparing to stick into him. The local anaesthetic needle shone in the light, then something dawned over Natasha.

"Hey, remember when you knocked me out and cut open my leg?"

"Yes..."

"Did you have this local anaesthetic then?"

"I might've done... I panicked okay!" Clint said sheepishly.

"No problem, don't worry about it," Natasha said gently.

"Really?" Clint said hopefully, turning to Natasha in time to watch her plunge the needle into the area around his wound. Natasha grinned as he squirmed, gently pushing the plunger down.  
Revenge was sweet. Of course, he'd taken the bullet for her benefit and the shot would actually help him.

"Nope,"

"Ouch," Clint was biting down on his lip.

"You'll lose feeling in your hip for a while, you'll have to lean on me when we get off the train," Natasha said, sinking down into her seat. Clint slid down next to her, and began running her through the plan to get to America, then what to do there.

* * *

Clint stepped off the train, already heavily leaning on Natasha.

"Literally round this corner, you'll see the airport, Bria's meant to be there," Clint managed through gritted teeth. His hip throbbed as Clint continued to put the weight on it, he wanted to give up, he really did. But that was never an option. The next hundred metres to the airport were horrific, Clint's hip was the only thing filling his mind, despite Natasha making witty observations and dry remarks from beside him.

"We're here," Natasha said finally, dragging him into the air-conditioned building. Natasha lowered Clint into a chair, he didn't miss her amused face as a high pitched whine escaped through his lips. She plopped down beside him with a cheery grin, unusually so for her.

"What now?" She beamed, glancing around. Clint took a look around, searching for Bria's dark hair and long limbs.

"I don't know," Clint said finally, unable to spot Bria in the heavy crowds.

Clint's eyes opened when two hands grabbed his face, tightly gripping his cheeks

"Clint, listen to me," Bria's face came into focus, just as Natasha jolted awake beside him.

"It's better this way, okay? Trust me. I am sorry it had to end this like this, really," Bria's voice was urgent, Natasha had leaned in closer with wide eyes.

"I really liked the two of you,obviously I still do like the two of you. You're closer to family than anything I've ever had. Natasha, just thank you, for letting me in, I know you didn't trust me to begin with, I know you didn't want to. Clint, keep up the good work man, and take care of her, she needs you more than you know," Bria's vibrant eyes briefly met Clint's, then flitted to Natasha. She pressed a kiss to both their cheeks, then snapped upright, her eyes suddenly emotionless.

"What are you doing, Bria?" Clint was shocked, worried, curious. She'd been fine earlier, a little odd, but fine. Now she was completely out of herself, so unlike the Bria he and Natasha had grown close to over three weeks. Bria put on a pair of black Raybans, and adopted a stoic facial expression. All the signs Clint had been taught of someone in emotional pain, but who was strong enough to stay quiet.

"I'm sorry it has to be like this, but you have to forget," Bria said finally. Then the penny dropped. She was going to erase herself from their minds.

"Bria, please don't," Natasha said.  
Fog clouded Clint's mind, then it cleared. There was a blur to his vision but he quickly shook it off. Then a click. It was an odd sensation, almost familiar but he'd never felt it before. All the memories of him and Natasha came flooding back to him suddenly, the two of them training together, talking together, just the two of them, perfectly simple. The memories had a strained tone to them, like a grey cloud.  
Finally, Clint turned his gaze to the pale girl in front of him, stood patiently looking at him and Natasha.

"My name is Bria, I work for S.H.I.E.L.D, Director Fury has given the instructions that before we pick you up, you must deal with the Russian group following you," She said calmly, then flashed an I.D badge. Natasha looked to Clint for confirmation, and he nodded in reply.

"Two tickets for the next flight to Russia, you may want to check in," The girl, Bria, passed Clint a brown envelope, then turned of the heel of her standard issue boots and walked off without another word.

"Do things like that happen often?" Natasha asked once they could no longer see her.

"I was told to expect things like that, total strangers like her just turning up with instructions,"

* * *

Clint and Natasha sat side by side on the six hour flight to Moscow. Clint could feel Natasha's tension, she was nervous.

"Take your mind off it," Clint said softly. Natasha jabbed him in the ribs.

"How can I take my mind off it? These people made me who I am!" She was careful to keep her voice down, wary of the surrounding sleeping people. They went back to silence, Clint shut his eyes tightly and attempted to get some sleep. Natasha made it five minutes without speaking.

"Does it feel like something's missing?" She whispered, rolling in to face Clint.

"You too?" Clint met her eyes, holding her gaze.

"Something big, something obvious,"

"Important, yeah, I get it too,"

"I thought it was just me," Natasha murmured.

"Like a part is missing, something you can't forget,"


	10. Together

**A/N: Penultimate chapter, then after that just the epilogue to go! Hope you enjoy this. After this I have something else planned, a fic definitely involving the captain, but it's either stony or capXoc, please vote on my page!**

* * *

Clint watched as Natasha tightly strapped his hip, he needed to be able to run.

"Tight enough?" Natasha asked as she knotted the bandage. Slowly, Clint put all his weight on it, ignoring the searing pain.

"It's fine," He grimaced. Natasha snorted.

"Looks it, so what's the plan?"

"We go in, we kill them, we leave," Clint shrugged, then tapped the comm in his ear.

"Keep in touch though,"

"Got it, I'll go in through the basement," Natasha pointed to the underground entrance, a vent through the sewer leading into the basement.

"I'll be on the roof of the building opposite, then I'll join you when you give me the all clear," Clint nodded in confirmation. They'd stolen the blueprints for the area controlled by the Russian mob from the local authority building, without any real difficulty.

"Arrows?" Natasha raised an eyebrow, Clint patted the full quiver in response.

"Ammo?" Natasha nodded. The pair bumped fists, Clint turned away first, heading through the wooded area towards the building.

"Clint," Natasha called towards him, Clint spun on his heel to face her.

"Don't get hurt," She said simply.

"You too," Then he was moving again, walking further away from the only person who understood him.

* * *

"I'm in," Natasha's voice crackled through his ear.

"I'll start now, wait until you hear a shout," Clint replied. He walked to the edge of the roof and crouched, watching the guards wander for a few seconds before notching an arrow. With the exhale of air, Clint released the arrow, shooting a man straight through the head, efficiently ending his life. No one notices. Clint sighed, and took another glance around. There was a power transformer outside the front of the building. Clint sent another arrow down, hitting the transformer in the right place, sending up a huge flare of light, a short surge of electricity, then the area was plunged into darkness.

"I hope that was you," But Clint could hear the grin in Natasha's voice, the one that matched his. The lack of light made this so much easier.

Below him, on the ground, Clint could hear the panic setting in, as paid mob members struggled to make a decision. Then, the faint gun fire started. No doubt Natasha, putting the plan into action. Clint started firing arrows downwards, each one finding a target.

"Clint, this is madness, get down here. We've kicked up enough panic, get in and meet me before they sort out the power,"

"They won't be sorting out the power any time soon, I blew up the step down transformer, the entire area will be out,"

"Oh... well then get down here anyway,"

"On it," Clint hooked his abseiling gear onto the hook he'd set up earlier, although he hadn't intended to use it, while the power was out he may as well take advantage of the situation.  
Clint was halfway down the building when he noticed the red dot darting about beside his head, trying to keep up with him.

"Nat," Clint said calmly, although his palms had started sweating.

"Yep, where are you? I'm waiting,"

"Someone has eyes on me, I'm walking down the side of the building, there's a red dot flickering about trying to keep up with me, suggested untrained sniper, likely to be a ground man taking advantage of a situation,"

"Do you know whereabouts he is?" Natasha said, Clint could hear the sound of her running up stairs.

"Yes of course I've had plenty of time to look," Clint said dryly.

"I'm finding him now," Natasha ignored Clint completely. Clint muted his mic and carried on making his way down the building.

"Three floors, Clint, she's got your back," He murmured to himself. The red dot was no longer visible, so it was probably targeted somewhere on his body.

"Move faster, I can't find him," Natasha shouted over the noise. There was a loud shot, then a crack appeared above Clint's head in the window. Clint put his mic back on.

"He fired, don't think he was expecting the recoil because he missed by quite a bit,"

"Where are you?"

"Just hit the ground," Clint grinned, unclipping himself from the building.

"Switching to knives," Clint slung his bow over his back and pulled out two short knives.

"Meet me on the ground floor, middle stairwell, lower basement isn't aware of invasion apparently and something's up, all of these guys are just running about aimlessly,"  
"On it," Clint muted his mic again, and began running. He kept low, breathing steadily, slashing his knives across any visible throat, or moving in for any easy jab. He made it to the stairwell in minutes.

"We're going down, I grabbed this guard," Natasha looked proud, holding a beefy man up by his collar, he was barely conscious and kept mumbling about his mother. Clint punched him in the stomach. The man lurched forward, then looked around, suddenly very aware.

"Why is everyone so confused?" Clint demanded.

"New program downstairs, we take on more men few day ago, all good men are lower down," The guard said in broken English, eyes wide with fear. Clint noticed Natasha's pale face, and odd silence.

"What?"

"This happened with me, with my group," Natasha dropped the guard, who scurried away.

"You think they're doing it again? The Red Room?" Natasha nodded slowly.

"We need a keycard to get down to the lower basement," Clint said, glancing around. Still silent, Natasha held up a keycard, presumably the one belonging to the guard.

"Nat, take a step back, you can stop this if you just step out of it," Clint slowly took Natasha's hand, the same way he had the first time he'd taken her from the Russians.

"Do you trust me?" He said, repeating the words he'd said months ago.  
_No_, he recalled her reply then. Natasha looked up at him.

"Always,"

"Then let's go,"

* * *

They used the time in the lift to sort weapons, Clint opting for his short knifes, Natasha using dual handguns.

"We're going to be fine, you're leading?"

"Damn right I am," Natasha almost snarled, reloading her gun as violently as a person could. The lift lurched to a stop, and the doors pinged open, every person turned to face them.

"Follow me," Natasha fired before anyone could react, ending three lives swiftly. Clint darted forwards, ducking under the gun pointed as his head, pushing a knife into the man's stomach then pulling it back out in one quick movement. The man brought his gun round, clipping Clint's bad hip, causing him to suck the air in through his teeth. Because it _really_ hurt.

"So we have a weak spot?" The man smirked cruelly, aiming again for Clint's hip. But Clint knew, he saw it coming. Clint's knife first went for the gun wielding hand, slicing the man's wrist cleanly, then for his throat, efficiently killing him.  
The next ten minutes were a blur of pain, following Natasha, fighting and killing. The pair were slowly making their way down a corridor, Natasha seemingly knowing where she was going.  
Silence fell, and Clint glanced back at the way they'd came. Everyone was dead, at least fifty men killed by two teenagers.

"Through here's the lab, then the training room," Natasha stood by one side of the door, Clint stood on the other, then Natasha pushed the card in the slot. The mechanised door hissed open, and the duo spun into the lab, weapons ready.  
It was empty, a door at the end wide open.

"They've all gone," Natasha stated, Clint rolled his eyes.

"We'll go through then," He said casually, walking towards the door, sliding a handgun from the waistband of his trousers simultaneously. Glancing through the door, Natasha right behind him, he could only process one thought; he was going to die.

* * *

Natasha breathed in slowly, watching the row of five teenage girls. There'd been eight originally in her pack. Had three died this time round, or had they just begun with less?

"If you're being trained the same why I was, you'll know it's never wise to make the first move," Natasha said as casually as she could manage.

"Then we're going to be stood here for a very long time," The smallest girl said in perfect English, with an American accent.

"We can help you, train you elsewhere, build you up for another team, if _this_ is what you want," Clint said, gesturing to the area around him.  
"But if you want out, if you want a normal life, we can do that, we'll take you out of here, help you forget it ever happened,"  
Clint's voice sounded trusting, gentle. Surprise sparked in Natasha, she hadn't known Clint was capable of appearing so normal and caring. Natasha focussed again and saw one of the girls on the end visibly wavering, she was on the fence.

"Look, I'm going to, come with us," Natasha directed her words towards the nervous looking girl. The girl took one final look down the line, then stepped forwards to stand in front on Clint, then turned her back to Clint and faced the line again. Two of the four remaining girls followed her. The smallest girl stayed put, a stony look on her face.

"Fine, stay with these people, but run now, or you will die," Clint's trusting voice was long gone, his eyes were dark. The second girl ran, backed away, her blonde hair flailing around her face.  
"Kill me then," The American girl grinned. Natasha pounced, catching the American girl around the neck and dragging her to the floor.

"I'm the original Black Widow, I always win," Natasha snarled. The heels of the small girl filled her immediate vision, as her knees squeezed Natasha's neck. In retaliation, Natasha smashed her elbow onto the girl's face, then into her stomach, and finally ended grabbing a chunk of the girl's hair and pulling it up.

"How old even are you?" Natasha had to appear calm, to outwit her opponent.

"Twelve,"

"Young age to die,"

"I was going to win this, I was going to be better than you, better than everyone," The girl said, defiant in spite of the blood now covering her face.

"Then I'm sorry, because that's not going to happen," Natasha manoeuvred her way out of the younger girl's grip, then slammed her knee into the girl's stomach. Winded, the girl was helpless as Natasha pressed a gun to her forehead.

"They said you were heartless, but what about him?" The girl gasped, jerking her head towards Clint. Unperturbed, Natasha pushed down further on the gun.

"You're going to kill me, otherwise you won't be worthy to call yourself the Black Widow,"  
Natasha's heart_ was_ cold, and Clint was the _only_exception, possibly the only person she could ever trust. But this girl was more so, colder, empty. Bad things had to happen to a person so young for them to be like that. Things that Natasha herself had been through, she'd loved her parents, and that had been exploited, used to crush her. This little girl deserved a better life than the one Natasha had been given. But she wasn't going to get it here. And now was not the time for mercy.

Natasha pulled the trigger.

* * *

Clint watched Natasha speaking with the three girls they'd saved from the Red Room, all of whom looked slightly pale. In fairness, Nat had blown out a girl's brains in front of them all. The five of them stood in front of the burning building, surrounded by dead bodies. Natasha was speaking to the girls, her words unhearable over the roar of the fire. Turning away, Clint pressed the speed dial on his battered phone. It answered on the second ring.

"Clint?" Coulson sounded surprised.

"Agent 4035, Barton, Clint. The Red Room is burning, requesting extraction. Four extras,"

"Define extras,"

"Three unknown girls, taken from the Red Room. Natasha Romanoff, ex-Russian mob assassin,"  
Clint kept his voice cold, professional. He was disappointed in Phil, even though he was only doing his job.

"Extraction team is on it's way, you'll be out in less than an hour, they're flying the jets from England, it's good to have you back, Barton,"

"Thank you, sir," Clint hung up.

"Less than an hour," Clint called to Natasha, who glanced up and nodded in response.

Relief flooded Clint's chest, he was going home, and he was keeping Natasha.


	11. We Are Ending

**A/N: I can't decide if this is the epilogue or not, what do we think?**

* * *

"And what the hell were you thinking when you brought her back here?" Nick Fury was angry, no, fuming. The rage was coming off of him in waves, each one hitting Clint.  
"You told me, 'make sure the Black Widow is no longer a problem', and I did tha-"  
"I meant kill her, not bring her back to our base like a lost puppy!" Clint let out a long whistle.  
"I wouldn't let Nat hear you calling her a puppy,"  
"Nat?" Nick Fury crossed the desk and stood directly in front of Clint.  
"She trusts me, I trust her, and most importantly, she owes me a debt. That's more important to her than anything else, she wants to change,"  
The Director sat back down, and stared at Clint. Clint stared back, unafraid.  
Neither of them said anything for at least five minutes.  
"Where is she?" Director Fury got up, gesturing for Clint to follow him.  
"Just outside the door, sir," Clint followed the Director out of the room, where he stopped almost instantly in front of Natasha. Natasha jumped to her feet, looking nervous.  
"You're really not here to kill us all and take our information?" Director Fury demanded.  
"No, sir,"  
"If this changes I will have a new tracker put in you and Clint is not going to find it this time,"  
"Yes, sir,"  
"Go to the Issues department and tell them you're Agent 5034, I know you're qualified for this, you'll be on the system before you get down there,"  
"Yes, sir," Clint grabbed Natasha's elbow, and began dragging her down to issues. He got to keep her, she was going to stay with him. Clint Barton, famously emotionless, was flailing because he'd made a friend.  
"Oh, by the way, Barton, she's your partner now, you only do missions together. I'm sure you'll get sick of her and kill her anyway,"  
"As you wish sir," Clint grinned, this was even better, Natasha always had his back.  
"And do either of you know anyone named Bria?"  
"I've never met anyone with that name," Natasha said slowly, curious.  
"Me neither," Clint shook his head, it was possible Director Fury was losing it.  
"Alright, run along then,"

* * *

"You're staying with me, for as long as you want," Clint opened the door to the apartment provided to him by S.H.I.E.L.D, and was instantly overwhelmed by a rush of emotions. Then the awful smell hit him.  
"Fuck me!" Natasha coughed, backing out of the room.  
"That would be the chicken I had in the fridge, or maybe the yoghurt, or the milk... maybe just the whole fridge," Clint pulled her shirt up over his nose and went into the kitchen. Natasha was right behind him, pulling the bin towards him and the fridge.  
"Chuck it all," She commanded. Clint pulled everything out of the fridge, and shoved it straight into the bin. The smell said it all, completely unsalvageable.  
"Why did you not think this through and eat it before you left?"  
"I was only meant to be gone a week or two, at the most!" Clint protested.  
"Whatever," Natasha almost gagged as she threw the bin bag into the trash chute. Clint went round, flinging open windows, he was completely willing to be cold in order to get rid of the disgusting smell. He crashed on the sofa, Natasha jumped down beside him.  
"Nice place," Natasha nodded in approval. Clint looked around, it honestly wasn't bad. A dark brown couch, wooden floorboards, cream walls, and his favourite piece of the living room, the huge TV and several game consoles surrounding it.  
"Have you actually looked at your uniform yet?" Clint asked, eyeing her bag in the corner.  
"No, I just picked it up and threw it in the bag,"  
"You may want to look at that," Clint smirked. Natasha raised an eyebrow, but unquestionably grabbed her bag and chose a door at random to change in. Clint waited a moment, for the inevitable shout.  
"What the fuck?!" Natasha's outraged voice drifted through. Clint's grin grew wider. Natasha walked out five minutes later, sporting her skin tight, black suit.  
"I've used sex appeal on missions before, but why does this need to be necessary?" She whined.  
"Apparently you can really move in them,"  
"We'll see," Natasha was still dubious. Clint liked her best when it was just the two of them, the times when she was truly herself. Carefree, vulnerable, acting like a child, the way she never got to before. Natasha left the room, and came back in two minutes later in sweats and a baggy shirt.  
"You'll get a clothing allowance come through soon, you can buy a whole new wardrobe. It all goes on this card they'll give you, all your pay and everything," Clint explained, letting Natasha curl up beside him.  
"Are you going to get paid for the mission, you know, the killing me one?" Natasha queried.  
Clint's blood turned cold at the mention of her death. Life would be impossible without her now. Nothing without her consistent friendship, the way she understood him, how he understood her, knowing that they had each other's backs during any fight.  
"They said to make sure you weren't a problem, and now you're not," Clint said carefully. Natasha shrugged, then got up and turned the TV and consoles on at the socket.  
"Teach me to play this then,"


	12. Epilogue

**A/N: Although this epilogue is not entirely relevant to the story, I thought it was important you saw how I imagined their relationship progressing. Massive thanks to everyone who added this to their favourites/alerts and/or reviewed!  
**

****_**...and you haven't seen the last of Bria...**_

* * *

Natasha blinked her eyes open, then shut them tightly again, burning from the light streaming in through the slit in the curtains. Finally, she opened her eyes properly. The stillness of Clint's body told her that he was not yet awake, she was insanely jealous of his ability to sleep in.

Sharing a bed had been a habit they'd not been able to break, since they started it six years ago. Reminiscing on her past was not something Natasha normally did, but she could clearly remember her first night sharing an apartment with Clint. They'd gone to separate bedrooms at 11pm, but sleep had evaded Natasha, the presence of Clint's body was missing, her bed had felt cold and empty after so many nights sleeping in a narrow bed with Clint. Eventually, after three hours of rolling around in frustration, Natasha had scampered across the hall to Clint's room, only to find him in a similar state. The habit had become a necessity if either of them wanted proper sleep.

Natasha was fully aware of the rumours amongst S.H.I.E.L.D about the details of the pair's relationship, but they made her laugh. That and the fact, since she was the most feared agent going, no one ever asked, she'd never cleared any of it up.  
But everyone generally thought the two of them were romantically involved, something Natasha wasn't sure she could even manage.  
It didn't make her invincible to Clint's love though, knowing he wanted everything the other agents suggested. He'd told her acting as her husband on missions was particularly painful, because he could never have her in that way.  
After that, Natasha had spent a week pushing him away, mainly for his own benefit, partly because she felt uncomfortable around him. That small stint ended when they had to face several mercenaries, only one of whom survived.

Running had never been her style, the exception being the first time she'd meant Clint, begged him to take her with him. Despite not trusting him, because she didn't trust anyone then.  
Even now, it was only him.  
Natasha stopped watching Clint sleep and rolled onto her back again, instead watching the dust motes swirling in the early morning light. It was peaceful, these moments before Clint woke up, when she wasn't on a mission. Just getting to keep all her walls down without having to speak.  
Clint snored lightly beside her, then changed his position so his arm was slung across Natasha's stomach. She fought the instinct to laugh, it was so typically Clint.  
Every time they went on a mission, he managed to tease a smile from her, consciously or not.

Love was for children, so she'd been told. It made you weak, they'd told her, made you vulnerable.  
But when had Clint ever been vulnerable? He'd fought beside her, defended her, merciless killed people, had never revealed any information when they tortured her in front of him, as per agreement.  
If anything, love had made Clint stronger, Natasha realised. He'd had something to fight for, her, his remaining family.  
Love made people stronger. Natasha prodded Clint in the ribs, ready to tell him the feelings she'd harboured since he'd saved her for the first time, taking a chance and risking his job, his life.  
Clint grunted in response, then pried his sleepy eyes open.  
"What?" He mumbled. Natasha rolled in to face him, making their noses a three centimetres apart.  
"You're not weak," Natasha stated, Clint shrugged.  
"No,"  
"You love me?" Natasha confirmed, Clint's small smile froze, and he nodded.  
"Just double checking," Natasha took a deep breath, but it had to be said.  
"I love you," Natasha slammed her eyes shut, refusing to look at Clint.  
"I knew it," Clint sounded smug. Natasha's mouth dropped open, in mock outrage. Unfortunately, her witty reply was cut off by what Clint and her deemed, 'the mission phone' ringing. Clint reached over and pulled the phone out the cradle, then pressed the speaker button.  
"You need to get your ass up, Barton, we need you here, I do not care what is going on in that bed, get out of it,"  
"What's going on?"  
"We got the Tesseract, Selvig is doing some work, we need you to watch,"  
"On it," Clint was out of bed, pulling on clothes straight away.  
"I know you're there too, Romanoff, you're not getting off lightly, there's a plane ticket to Romania with your name on it under your doormat, you'll be given a brief at the airport," Then Fury was gone. Natasha couldn't help but roll her eyes, it always happened. They'd be in bed, relaxing, then they'd get a mission come through.  
Clint was already dressed, and grabbing the case containing his bow, while Natasha was still lying in bed, watching. Clint turned to her with a smirk, then walked to her side of the bed.  
"Have a nice holiday, dear," He said, then planted a chaste kiss on her lips, only to accompany it with an ass grab. Then he was gone.  
_Love makes you stronger_, Natasha reminded herself, and, despite their twisted histories, the two were perfect.


End file.
